The clock ticks and I can hear it. I can hear every bloody tic-toc...tic-toc and I stare out losing myself again. It's dark inside, cold to the point of curling in on myself, and the echo aches...rattles my soul (if it's still there.)
The tears come and I can't stop them. I'm angry inside. No one cares, no one hears me, everyone needs from me, takes from me, depletes me. I give-and give-and give but there's nothing left but a shallow pool of blood that pulses; it's the only thing telling me I'm alive.
He finds me--hiding, sobbing uncontrollably, behind a glass door that holds every article that covers me, labeling me as "together" or "tired" or "SAHM" or "professional" and all I can do is tell myself to keep breathing. I have to keep breathing.
It's the day before it all changes and while my world moves around me, I stand still just hoping I can hang on a little longer (because I'm not far 'nuff gone to want to leave it forever....right??) The ocean crashes, the planks below our feet keep us staring down---hand in hand---and I say, "I need help. I know this scares you, but I can't do this anymore."
We stop, he admits, "It does scare me. I don't understand it," and I know it does...because it's been seven years...and it's okay but it doesn't change where I am.
We reach out and we hear from someone who knows what they're talking about: "You can't go back to work. We need to take care of you." I crumble inside--like soft cheese--I just needed that final push and I could break down so I could rebuild.
That was the day that I was reborn to myself....again.
(to be continued)